


In the Shade of Avalon

by MaethoMixup



Category: Naruto, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Canon Compliant, Crossover, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-01 05:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13990977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaethoMixup/pseuds/MaethoMixup
Summary: He’s a man that can't forget. She’s a girl that can't remember. When Itachi dies, he wakes in an impossible world where fish fly and smiles come easy, and they can't escape.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the pairing no one asked for or wanted, but here you go and I hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think!

* * *

 

_“Were your eyes able to see through it all?”_

Itachi dies with two fingers raised, pressed gently against Sasuke’s forehead.

It’s the first time he remembers smiling in a very, very long time. 

 

-

 

Death is a bright light and a hard pull.

There is no comfort here.

_And then-_

 

* * *

 

He wakes in water, gasping around the burn of fresh air. 

Light no longer sears into him - no longer seeps into his soul, pulling him apart at the seams. His eyes flutter open to acknowledge what new abyss has captured him and an aurora blinds his vision before he’s prepared for the view.

Itachi squints through the stars, determined.

Paradise smiles back.

The ocean is double-shaded: the blue of its surface mingles with the reflection of the horizon. Specks of gold and red swarm around him, and it takes him several blinks to realize that it’s a collection of fish. They swim from the depths below and travel into the sky as if the world is their playground. He swishes his arms to be sure there’s a distinction between the two elements framing him; water splashes over him as the breeze cools his breached limbs. 

And there’s _sound_. He hears birds cawing underneath the waves, hears his own heartbeat tick against his ribs. Wind giggles, placing kisses against his cheeks. 

Itachi feels safe - he feels alive. Inside him life surges as if he’s a wind-up toy twisted after centuries of silence, and he relishes in the sympathy each rusted gear makes as his once-corpse welcomes back humanity.

He floats there, breathing in the seabreeze, and accepts this new reality. As amazing as it is to watch fish fly, it's the fact that he can see at all that astounds him. In his dying moments he recalls his vision nothing more than shadowed outlines. 

But there are no shadows here. Everything is clear and bright and too foreign for a man trained in war, and he doesn’t complain. For once his memories - of Sasuke, of Konoha - freeze behind their picture frames, silent, left as morbid decorations inside his soul. He decides that it doesn’t matter whether or not this place is a dream or a trick if this reprieve is what peace feels like.

His head tilts backwards and his body goes slack, letting the current drift him like a fallen leaf.

 

* * *

 

“Are you alive?” he hears a voice call from a close distance, jarring him from his tranquility.

Beneath calm layers, glass shatters. Old instincts encourage him to grab at a weapon and fling the metal to meet the bone of the stranger’s thigh. The scenario plays itself like a faded recording through his mind, with past voices oozing in to remind him how to torture, how to kill. His hands flex around nothing, but even if his gear had still been attached to his naked hip, the wrongness of that action screams at him. 

Itachi forces his fist loose. There’s no need to resort to violence with his mission now complete, he reminds himself.

His body shivers. 

Mission complete, that's a new thought.

Before the academy, before his father had sat beside him to whisper half-truths as bedtime stories, his younger self had dreamed of a peace similar to this ocean wonderland. The tides thrill around him and Itachi realizes the fable of his youth is finally within arms reach now that death has severed the chains linking him to his duties and village. 

Freedom. That’s new too. 

The potential threat of this woman’s presence is not enough to hurry his movements despite his taut muscles still urging otherwise. He rolls his shoulder once, twice, and pivots towards her.

She stands on a pier. Both hands cup around her mouth, wind blowing her dress into a billow against her curves. Her stare pierces through the sun’s hazy glean, vast and curious beneath strands of brown. Innocent, Itachi thinks. This woman doesn't belong in days of war. A veteran would know the dangers of a lone man - they would know not to smile so widely at a stranger.

 _Are you alive_ , she had asked.

“I don’t know,” he finally manages to respond, swallowing a wave between words.

“Can you swim?” she says. One hand is already drifting to her sandals, ready to shuck them off if he answers with a negative. The honest gesture rings like a warning, but sounds like the truth. It clashes heavily against his own worldviews regardless of its validity.

Another shiver. He wants to believe - in her. In the sincerity steering her movements. But to trust a stranger is a notion he is no longer accustom with; villains do not get that luxury. Allies are born and bred for the necessity of survival and that same reason rips them apart. Never once had he considered saving another person without a strategy and an end goal, yet here she is ready to leap to his rescue without knowing him or his circumstances. For, if she did, surely she would cower instead of exposing her weaknesses as blatantly as she is.

He notices himself soften in spite of his warring suspicions. If nothing else, gullible targets are a well of much needed information and her presence in this ethereal world is a luxury he is unwilling to overlook. 

Itachi twists around so he is mostly submerged, then looks to see where he is suppose to swim to. Stranded in the middle of this never-ending blue is just the woman and a hut with a dock stretching towards him. It is all rather plain, made of dark woods and painted white, but he’s never seen anything so glaringly out of place.

With no other destination to consider, he makes his way to her. Rather than accept the hand she extends to him, he heaves himself to the surface and rolls over, bare back flopping down, water splashing her toes. His nakedness doesn't faze him, but the wet chill is sudden enough to make laying there uncomfortable. 

Itachi stretches forward with one arm behind himself for stability and watches her frown waver back into that impossible smile. 

“I arrived the same way, you know.” She teeters beside him, weight dancing to and from each foot. “Though, I wasn't as calm as you! I thought I was drowning!” 

“I should already be dead,” he says; there's no use in hiding it. “I remember dying.”

If she’s surprised, she doesn't show it. She nods instead. “Yeah, like I said, it was the same for me. That's why it was so silly of me to think I was drowning,”she says like she truly understands, and maybe she does.

Itachi scans her and then the area again. There is nothing new to see, but her statement brings another perspective to the environment. “This is not how I expected the afterlife to appear.” 

Her giggle is fluttery, almost like she’d been waiting for that realization. “It gets weirder,” she says, taking a step back and jerking her thumb at the half-timbering house. Wide windows weigh down the exposed cross beams, all framed in with multicolor shutters. “Follow me, I’ll show you around. It's not much, but it has everything we need here!” 

Her foot pauses above the pier as he stands to follow. Curiosity piques until he registers where her widened gaze had traveled, and he moves a hand to cover himself in an effort to stave off her furious blush. 

“I’m sorry,” she stammers out quickly, whirling herself in another direction. “Me too! It was like that for me too. The, uh, nakedness. I was so happy to see you that I’d completely overlooked,” she gulps down the first word to come to mind, “that,” she ends, then slaps her palm against her mouth. “I'm sorry I'm so weird, I wasn't like this before, well, this. I think.”

Itachi looks away and chooses to leap over the situation’s awkwardness. “Death changes people,” he comments drily. 

“I’m pretty sure that phrase was meant for the living,” she mumbles between her fingers, giving him a humored glance before remembering why she had originally turned away. “Okay! So, new plan! First step, get you a towel and some clothes!”

She marches forward with forced determination and flings the front door open. “Home sweet home,” she announces. The echoes of her voice reach him above the sound of the crashing waves, each petering word making their isolation more pronounced.

IItachi suspects he already knows the answer before he asks, “Are we alone here?”

There's still a smile in her voice as she responds, “Not exactly,” and she dances under the threshold without clarification, his feet trailing her steps.

Inside is much like his first impression of the hut: small and odd and its whiteness is nearly blinding. There's a plank staircase that spirals against the walls, framing the kitchen and leading them to the level above. A bunk bed lays amidst two dressers, one of which she begins to rifle through. 

“I took all the towels when I got here, I hope you don't mind,” she says, head buried in a drawer. “I had no idea when you’d be showing up!” 

That piques his interest. “You knew I would arrive?” 

“Well, I suspected,” she clarifies. A towel is tossed over her shoulder and he catches it, patting himself dry and wrapping it around his waist before letting her know it's safe to turn around. 

She continues, “I suppose it's more accurate to say that I had really, really hoped I wouldn't be alone here for all eternity!” Her lips upturn, lopsided. “Good to see I didn't get my hopes up for nothing.”

“Did you expect it to be me?”

“What?” she asks.

“Here,” he gestures around the open room, “with you. Did you know I was going to die?”

She shakes her head. “I don't know who you are. There were some clues though so, uh,” her fingers drum nervously, a jumble of Morse code against her thigh, “perhaps it's better if I show you?”

Rather than wait for his response, she turns to the other wardrobe and opens it, throwing the doors wide enough for him to see the contents inside. Shirts hang color coordinated from white to black, and in the drawers below pants are folded neatly in two by four rows. They match the garments that had once filled his own closet - back when he’d had a house to call home.

Itachi reaches out to one of the shirts, turns it to see the back, hates the sight of what he knew would be there. The Uchiha symbol sits in the center of the garment, red and proud. His hand balls the fabric into a fist.

“I'm guessing that means something to you?” she asks from behind, peeking around him.

“Yes.” His voice is nearly a whisper. 

His hand loosens enough to allow for his fingers to trace the crinkled fan. He hadn’t worn this symbol since the night he’d betrayed his family; he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to don it again.

“Both dressers were full when I arrived,” she explains. “The other one, the one I was just in, those clothes fit me perfectly. I figured that someone would come along and fit these too.”

He glances from the shirt to her and back again. “Do you not know what this means?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Should I?”

Her brown eyes are still wide - still innocent. She's ignorant of the Uchiha clan's infamy. Ignorant of their history, written in blood and buried beneath lies. Perhaps that's for the best, he thinks, if they are to be caged together inside this stilted hut and endless sea like a boat lost within a bottle.

“No,” he says. “I suppose not.”

Her grin is dazzling. “Well then, get dressed! Meet me downstairs when you’re ready. I was in the middle of making lunch before you arrived.” 

And she skips away, leaving Itachi with a shirt drenched in nightmares. It only takes a quick look to see that the others hanging beside it all carry the same weight upon their backs.

With no other choice, he puts it on.

 

* * *

 

_“Our pain will only last an instant, unlike yours…”_

 

* * *

 

"You look much better with clothes on," she blurts out when he reaches the bottom step of the staircase.

Itachi pauses, looking down at the outfit he'd decided upon. "I hope you mean that as a compliment."

"I did, I swear! It's just-" she stutters to a stop. Her cheeks stain a heavy red, ashen freckles darkening into pinpricks. She busies herself with the vegetables she'd been chopping before his interruption. Onions, he notices, wondering if that explains the redness rimming her eyes or the smile she still hasn't dropped.

"Well," she tries again, nearly pouting. "It was awkward. I don't think you're supposed to make introductions while naked."

"Is that so?" he asks, lips twitching upwards. Itachi doesn't return her smile - not sure he's able - but it feels like he might. "Then should we perhaps make introductions now that I'm clothed?"

"Are you kidding me?" She slaps her free hand against her forehead. "I've forgotten my manners, I'm so sorry! This is really embarrassing. I can't believe I didn't tell you my name during my whole 'hey, welcome to being dead' spiel I had going. There was a speech planned for that, you know."

She takes a steadying breath, drops her knife, and walks around the butcher block island and accompanying bar stools, stretching an arm towards him. "It's Uravity. That's my name," she says as his fingers grasp around her own.

Itachi blinks, commenting, "How strange," before he can hold his opinion to himself. After traveling across the elemental countries for the last decade of his life, names had ceased being original. It's been too long since he's needed to rein in his surprise.

"You think?" she asks with a laugh startled from her, dropping his hand. "Well, maybe it is, but it feels right, you know? Feels like I chose it."

He tilts his head, eyebrow raising. "Is that customary where you're from? Choosing your own name, that is."

"Who knows!" she says. "I don't think I have all my memories still. Thoughts come and go. It's not very consistent here." She taps her knuckles playfully against her skull, but Itachi thinks the statement sounds fitting to describe this world as well.

His footsteps are loud as he explores the room. This first floor, like the one above it, has no walls except for those that cage them from the ocean. There's a kitchenette, a couch, several scattered chairs, tables, and bookcases, but nothing else. There's no pattern in how the furniture sits. Just like outside, the details here bleed into each other like a drowning canvas.

He can feel her gaze settle on him, curious, and Itachi scrambles to grab at the fading thread of conversation. "I wonder if memory loss is a side effect of this place," he signals to the room, to the scattered books and canted candles, "or if that's exclusive to your circumstances here." It's a terrifying proposition, but the howling of his fear goes no further than his own mind.

"I don't know," she admits. "I was the only test subject until you arrived. So, well, I guess we'll find out soon enough."

He frowns. "Can't say I'm looking forward to it."

Uravity hums in agreement, making her way back to the cutting board, but stares at the onions instead of continuing her progress for a second time. "It's not all bad," she says finally. "I can't miss what I can't remember."

"But you can miss your memories."

"Yeah, sometimes," and for once her cheer isn't echoed upon her lips. "Anyways, what's your name?"

"Ah, I apologize. You may call me," he pauses, considers a lie, tastes the treachery sour his tongue before opening his mouth and deciding upon, "Itachi." Though his clan had been unknown to her, he hopes his name doesn't spark one of her hidden memories to the surface.

"Did you choose your name too?" she asks, eyelashes fluttering playfully in his direction. There's no recognition in her gaze and for that Itachi is grateful. His horrors can stay masked for just a while longer - forever, if he dares to hope so optimistically.

The symbol marring his back _burns_.

Itachi shakes his head, ignoring the urge to shuck his shirt off and truly set it on fire. "I wouldn't name myself after a weasel."

“There are worse animals to be christened after,” Uravity says in his defence. “Like- like _spiders_.”

“That's an insect,” he corrects.

Her nose wriggles. “Arachnid, actually. Too many legs. But that doesn't mean I’m changing my stance on this. Spiders are the _worst_.” 

He shrugs, sitting on one of the stools to watch her cook. “I’ll take your word for it.”

 

* * *

 

It’s only after they have eaten that Itachi thinks to ask, “How did you have the ingredients for this? There’s no dirt to grow vegetables, unless we haven’t finished the tour of this place.”

Uravity hands him another soap-filled pan and he dries it with the dish rag she’d thrown at him earlier. “No, these two rooms are it. The fridge and cabinets were full when I arrived, and they kind of just stay that way? Every ingredient I use reappears after I close the door.” She motions to the floating cabinet near his head. “The tea bags are stored in there. Make yourself a cup and see for yourself.” 

He eyes her then the heartwood front, placing the skillet on the drying rack before resting his hand on the knob. “If I take one out, but don't use it…”

“Then this demonstration won't work,” she says. “I'm not sure how this house knows or performs this magic, but anything disposable is replaced after it's used or turns rotten.”

“But only if the door is closed?”

She nods. “When we go back upstairs, I can show you the log I’ve used to detail my experiments. Maybe you’ll be able to come to a conclusion better than mine.”

“Which is?” he asks. Itachi opens the cabinet slowly, peering inside the gap, other hand tense and raised. The hinges squeak in protest.

“That the afterlife is weird,” she says as if he should have realized this by now. A smile whirls into her voice and he peeks at her, sees her wink, and turns back to the newly revealed contents in front of him.

He decides that she’s just as odd and files that opinion away. 

The tea bags sit between rows of spices. Itachi plucks one from the closest box and plops it into the mug Uravity thrusts toward him. “Teapot is under the cooktop,” she says. “Right behind you.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, swiveling the porcelain handle so the printed word ‘Saturday’ faces him in pink, curling script. 

Dishes clatter against the sink, and he leaves her to finish cleaning them. The teapot she’d directed him towards is a twisted metal, large, and holds enough liquid for several cups. He fills it, places it on the burner, waits for the screeching hiss to start and takes it off, soaking the tea bag. 

When he’s done, Itachi sets the teapot on a hot pad and regards the cabinet again. “Inside will be the same as it was before?”

“Yes,” she says and shoos him forward. “Go on. Glaring at it won’t prove anything.”

For a second time, he snatches at the knob and the door creaks angrily as it’s pulled open.

And for a second time, he sees a box nestled between the paprika and basil, not a single bag missing.

“So you were right,” he says, a vast understatement to the information and theories he cogitates in this one, spellbound moment before he takes another bag, pours liquid into another cup, and looks back to the box.

A bag is missing. He closes the door, opens it, and the box is again full. Two full cups of tea sit on the counter behind him, steaming. 

Uravity smirks, but it’s gentle. The last of the dishes are set to the side. “Did you doubt me?” she asks.

“Without seeing it, I doubt I would believe any of this,” he answers without explaining that before today, he couldn't even see. And to see such a blue world - to encounter such implausible wonders during his first, clear experience in years - it threatens to stop the heart he’d reaquired. It continues to chime against his chest, a reminder of its newness, and he clutches at it.

“At least you have me here to clue you in! Much better than the surprises I went through discovering all this by myself,” Uravity says, then regards the tightness of his hand. “I probably would’ve had a heart attack too, except, you know that whole being dead thing. Can’t die twice, I guess.”

He latches onto that, afraid his mind would drift away from him if he focuses on the tea bag that shouldn’t exist. “Have you tested that?” he asks.

One of her eyebrows raise. “Hm?”

“Dying,” he clarifies. “For a second time.”

Her other eyebrow rises to match, color bleeding from her cheeks, but she shakes her head, says, “No,” too quickly and looks away. Her fingers shake around the cup she grabs ahold of.

Itachi snatches up the other mug, stares into the brown, swirling liquid, hates the idea he’d put in both of their minds. Taking his final breath twice is daunting; he doesn’t want his vision to return to darkness. He’s become greedy in his short time away from reality, it seems.

He walks out the front door to escape the conversation he’d started and tells himself that he isn’t running away, but that’s a lie.

 

* * *

 

There’s nowhere to run to, only the dock and the ocean and the hut behind him. He sits upon the edge, wood carving into his thighs and waves smacking against his feet. Itachi tries to balance one of his toes against the white crest of the water, urging his chakra to stick him to the surface, but nothing answers his call. He’s not surprised, just disappointed.

He looks to the sky. The world is upside down; gazing up feels like falling. The sensation grabs at him like a net, pulling him under even as he stays still. It’s as dizzying as it is welcomed, and a fish darts past the sun, scales shaded gold. His eyes follow its path until the clouds imprison it, then travel back to the brine. 

Doubt settles on him like a rock; it is unlikely that there is anything besides this man-made island, but Itachi knows himself. He has a bad habit of running, of needing to see everywhere except for the places he’s already been. It had always felt like walking backwards despite the new discoveries, yet it is a vice he is unable to break, nor completely willing. 

The swollen waves tease a chance to escape with each crash against the pilings. He ponders the view, calculating the distance from here to anywhere else, and then sighs through the heaviness of his feelings. It will not be long before he is itching to leave this place too no matter how tight the unbreakable shackles of death are around his ankles.

Freedom, he remembers thinking. That was too presumptuous of him.

The soft patter of her footsteps alert him of her presence long before Uravity comes to stand beside him. Itachi glances at her. Delicate ankles and well-toned muscles; it’s possible she was a ninja in life. There are enough pale scars painting the bare skin of her legs to convince him, but he had never met a killer with lips that could upturn so softly. 

He's mesmerized. 

“This is a strange place to call home,” he says. It’s an icebreaker statement. 

Uravity doesn't turn her gaze from the water. Sunlight sparkles against her profile, captures the light, traps it like the glass of a lamp, setting her silhouette ablaze. He watches her mouth as she says, “Of course it is. I told you it was weird.”

There it is - a tremble, and she takes her bottom lip between her teeth to hide it from him.

“But neither of us have a choice, do we?” he asks, raising his mug to take a sip.

“No,” she says. “We have everything here but that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to [PlaguedAmbition](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4493486/PlaguedAmbition) for beta-ing, [EndoplasmicPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndoplasmicPanda/pseuds/EndoplasmicPanda) and [Enbi](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4862192/Enbi) for helping, and [LinSetsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinSetsu/pseuds/LinSetsu) for her infinite amount of support. All four are wonderful writers, please check them out too!
> 
> To join the fanfiction Discord I'm apart of, here's the code: SmeDuHt


	2. Chapter 2

Day one ends with silence.

Uravity climbs into the well-used top bunk, leaving Itachi to claim the bottom. He prefers it this way; sleep would be impossible with someone at his back. 

The sheets are a soft cotton, splotted with colors and long enough to cover his lengthy legs. He settles against the pillows, looks at the gnarled bed frame above him, hears Uravity tossing back and forth to find a comfortable position. Then she stills. At the peak of silence, he suspects she might say something, but she rolls over for a final time and falls asleep within a blink.

Itachi turns too, presses his cheek flat and angles himself so the second floor expands before him. The dressers frame the bed, but across the room there are two desks stuffed between more bookcases, several chairs, and a ladder leading up to the scuttle. Opening that hatch earlier had lead him to the roof. 

His gaze drifts to the window decorating the far right of their bedroom. Light seeps through the glass; the sun is still set at high noon despite the many hours he thought had passed while sitting on the dock next to Uravity, listening to the dying breath of freedom, dreaming of escape. 

“The sun is stuck like that,” she had claimed between sips of tea. “There’s no night sky here.”

 _I miss the stars_ , she’d said later with eyes mapping the ocean blue. 

Itachi hugs the covers closer to him. It’s a reflex he’d thought he had grown out of, but he thinks of the wardrobe and the symbol hiding inside it, and knows that this world is eager to remind him of things he could never forget. The realization is unsettling. Perhaps that’s why he clutches the blanket higher as if he’s a child hiding from the monsters under the bed.

The afterlife scares him, he’s not afraid to admit that to himself. There’s nothing here that makes sense. Not the ocean or the hut or the woman sleeping above him. They scare him as much as the unknown use to - before the darkness had unraveled to reveal nightmares wielding dreams, swinging banners of peace high above their armies.

Now, he’s scared of both and he wonders where his bravery has vanished to.

He resolves to find answers tomorrow, forcing his eyes closed and his breath even.

 

-

 

Itachi remembers the blood, the screams, and the faces too similar to his own. 

He remembers Sasuke - remembers his orders. 

For the village- 

-for his home. 

For the man behind the mask, he says, 

_"Foolish, little brother...”_

 

-

 

Uravity begins to snore just as he nears another memory and he startles back to wakefulness. His fists are tight - too tight. There’s blood etched across his palms where his nails dig themselves deep. 

He doesn’t mind. There’s too much of himself that believes he deserves this pain. For the family he’d slaughtered, for the village he stills loves, for the home he had destroyed; Itachi has no regrets, but he’s not proud of the mission he’d accepted nor the actions required to complete it. 

But it’s done - _finally_. It’s over and this is all that remains: a dead man and a brother still alive, growing stronger, becoming better, and a realm forever separating them. 

He’s not proud, but he accepts this too. Itachi had never expected his life to end happily. He’d given up that right when the Third Hokage had trusted him to become a villain. That’s a fact, a known one. Misery and fulfilled duties can’t be frightening, he tells himself within the comfort of his own mind.

His hands don’t let go of the sheets, but Itachi listens to Uravity’s sharp intakes and piercing exhales and falls asleep counting them. The noise is comforting through this sunlit night.

 

* * *

 

His eyes are open before Uravity hangs her head over the side of the bed frame and says, “Good morning, Itachi!” Her hair flies past her wide smile, childish in the way that she giggles. 

He puffs out a breath, glares, slides his face from the pillow he’d been burying himself into.

“I see that _somebody’s_ not a morning person,” she says with a roll of her eyes. Uravity climbs down and stands over him, hands on her hips, leaning forward. “I hope you don't expect breakfast in bed, princess.” 

“It’s too early to be cheerful,” he explains, sitting up and letting the blanket pool around his thighs. Her grin widens to spite his statement and he’s reminded suddenly of Kisame, of the cutthroat comradery they’d formed during their travels together. Sleeping beside a hitman was only easier than Uravity’s geniality due to the years he’d had growing accustomed to a sword greeting his neck each sunrise. He thinks he prefers that - the morning adrenaline rush.

In time Itachi knows she will become his new normal, but for now he’s unsteady. He doesn’t know how to react or what to say besides complain, so he shifts his center of mass forward as if to help stabilize his inner turmoil.

Uravity glances down and then away, coughing once into her fist. “Would it kill you to wear a shirt to bed?”

“No,” says Itachi, straight-faced, “since we’re already dead.”

“I see what you’re doing.” Her finger wags accusingly in his direction. “If you want to rain on my parade, you’ll need to try harder than that!” 

He shrugs, standing. Uravity takes a step back before her finger collides with his bare chest. “You caught me,” he says to humor her. 

“I knew it,” she grumbles, but perks back to attention. “As punishment, it’s officially your turn to cook!” 

“That’s an interesting form of torture,” he murmurs, walks to the wardrobe meant for him, grabs a change of clothes, pretends not to see the flash of red as he slips on a shirt - pretends that the symbol doesn’t singe, doesn’t brand his skin, doesn’t still _burn_. 

“What can I say,” she laughs. “I guess I'm a fan of the cruel and unusual.” 

But it does burn, and it doesn’t let him forget.

He ignores it instead.

“That explains your comity towards me,” he says.

She snorts at that. “I’ve met a lot of strange people and, trust me, you seem absolutely normal compared to some of them.”

“Is that so?” Tossing back what he hopes is a pleasant expression rather than doubtful, he adds, “Perhaps you should get to know me better before you come to that conclusion.” 

“I think so too,” says Uravity, but there's too much optimism coloring her voice - too much hope and too many expectations aimed at a man unable to meet a single one. 

Itachi clears his throat, uncomfortable with the olive branch she extends towards him. Like yesterday when she was willing to rescue a stranger from the ocean, he can see no strings attached to this offer of friendship. It’s a fearless proposition, but it’s easy to be brave when trust is so readily given. 

It would be even easier to take advantage of her trust. 

The symbol is, after all, impossible to ignore.

Betrayal is in his veins.

With a pair of pants in hand, he strides past her, says, “I’ll finish changing downstairs,” but his feet pause at the banister and he twists back to meet her frown. “Do you have any requests for breakfast?”

She shakes her head. “No, not really.” 

Then, when he takes his first step down, she shouts, “I don't like pepper in my eggs!”

He waves to acknowledge that he’d heard.

The kitchen is the same as they’d left it. Itachi knows that, even if there’s no pattern to this room, there’ll be a pattern to his days, long and identical to each one before it. He grabs pans, plates, and bowls, then a handful of utensils he hasn't used since the last time Kisame had commandeered a home deep within the marshes. 

Two years. It's been two years since he's cooked without a campfire. 

He opens the fridge, pauses. Stops. 

Cooking is not a skill he learned, it’s one that he’d memorized the hand movements for while watching his mother. Which, as any decent chef would say, is not nearly the same. Knowing how to crack an egg doesn’t help him in knowing how to prepare it. All he knows is that Uravity has prohibited the usage of pepper.

Slipping into new pants and an apron, Itachi decides to keep it simple.

 

* * *

 

Uravity looks at the breakfast feast, opens her mouth, closes it. 

“How did you mess up rice?” she asks, pointing at the bowl in front of her. 

She looks vaguely amused, but she always does. He's known her for a day, or more, or less - it’s impossible to tell in a place where the sun stays in the sky like an unwelcome guest - and that expression seems near permanent, lips quirked _just so_ , eyes twinkling _just so_.

Just so, what? He doesn't know. Hurts to think, hurts to feel, hurts to stare back like he understands how he’s supposed to react.

It’s been two years since he’d attempted cooking. How long has it been since he’d smiled? 

The moment he died, but preceding that? 

It doesn't matter.

Uravity is vaguely amused, pointing a delicate finger at the food he had struggled to prepare and, the worst part is, she’s waiting for him to actually explain how he’d successfully created a glop of starchy goo. Which, doesn't exactly prove he’s inept at cooking, but it might as well. It’s a clue, at least. A big one.

He can't lie his way out of this situation.

It would be easier to kill her. 

Itachi doesn't, because it's an intrusive thought more than it’s instinctive. He's never been the type of man to slaughter for the fun of it, but if he squints, real hard, he could pretend it was to protect this vital information. Details like this could ruin his S-rank status in the Bingo book, the one he had never cared for - not like the others in his criminal organization - but since it mattered to other people, surely he should too.

There's no one here to tell, if he grabs a kitchen knife and carves this memory away from her skull.

He realizes, almost as if it were afterthought, that he's just embarrassed. 

It doesn't matter if she knows he’s flawed. There’s no one here to tell, or care, or do more than laugh, but he’s not used to laughter, and he’s most certainly not used to being laughed _at_. Most people scream when they see him. 

Uravity is not most people. 

It doesn't make it better.

“I followed the instructions,” he says.

“Sure you did.” She pats him on the shoulder, playful, but he flinches. Human touch is foreign unless it’s violent.

She doesn't seem to notice, too busy poking his creation with the narrow end of a chopstick.

“You know we have a rice cooker, right?” she asks. “It’s under the cooktop, next to where the teapot was.”

He wonders how she’d react if she knew that this was his third attempt at making breakfast before he’d called her down to eat. This had been the best result. Compared to the first two, this at least looks edible.

“And, aren't you supposed to separate the yolk from the white?”

Probably.

“And, uh, did you use a _whole bottle_ of soy sauce?”

He had. It doesn't matter. She’s right, the abomination in the mixing bowl is, truly, not even close to any sort of regulated food standard. This was thrown together using scraps of happy memories and determination, and neither are impressed as they watch the egg slosh across the rice.

“I can try to salvage…” she trails off. “Want me to cook breakfast?”

“That is probably for the best.”

 

* * *

 

He moves the couch towards the wall, shifts the rug so that it isn't caught underneath a chair. It’s when he picks up a stack of books to place elsewhere that Uravity looks up from her food preparations.

“What’cha doing over there, Itachi?”

The books are set on the end table, beside a lamp made of seashells and coral. “Making space,” he says. Then, “Why is there a lamp here?”

She glances at it, raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not like this place needs more light.”

Uravity shrugs. “Out of all the questions I thought you’d ask, can't say I expected that to be one of the first.”

Turning back, she tosses spices he only knows by name alone into the mixer in front of her. He thinks to get a closer look, to crowd her space and maybe learn how to be domestic instead of nomadic, but the dishes he’d used for his failure are still in the sink, a heavy reminder of the near hour he’d spent on, according to Uravity, the easiest meal in existence.

He glares at the lone spoon jutting out near the faucet, says, “I’m sorry to disappoint,” to both Uravity and the trashed meal.

“Oh, don't be silly, Itachi. That's my line,” she says. “I don't know why there's a lamp or all those candles laying about. Doesn't make a lick of sense but, well, nothing here does. You’ll get use to it or, well. Maybe not.”

A lid rattles against metal as she sets a pot to boil. Her hip knocks against the counter, leans into the slate stone, gives him a look from across the room. “So, what’cha making space for?”

“Warmups,” he says, and her shock is instant.

She’s across the room, invading his space, breathing in his air, before he thinks to dodge away from her bubbling excitement. “I didn’t want to assume,” her words nearly jumble together she’s speaking so fast, “but you have all those muscles going on and and I was thinking that maybe we’re the same!”

He’s afraid to inquire, because he knows there’s no way they could be comparable, but he does. He’s too curious to hold his tongue. “What are you talking about?”

“Were you a hero?” she asks, jumps twice, smiles so wide and so pure, expects him to answer yes like this is a storybook and he’s not the big bad wolf lurking, waiting to ruin her.

Itachi laughs. It’s the first time she hears this noise come from him, and she's startled, goes rigid. 

He remembers the blood, the screams, and the faces too similar to his own - that's why he laughs. That's why he says, “No, Uravity. No,” as if she’d told a joke. 

“Well I was,” she says, firm. Proud. Then, more awkwardly, “Sorry, Itachi. I got a little ahead of myself, I guess. I learned Judo to help save people. I forgot that it could be a hobby too.”

If he wasn’t curious before, he is now. His laughter settles into a frown. “I didn’t say that I wasn’t a ninja, simply that I wasn’t a hero.”

“Um,” she blinks, “what?”

“Ninja,” he says slower. “I’m a shinobi.”

“No, I heard you, I just-” Uravity stops, still blinking, confusion as expansive as his own. “Is this like some secret cult thing?”

“No,” he says even slower. “It’s my profession.”

She scratches at her nose, glancing away and back to him as if searching for a live studio audience and a punchline. “I’m really not sure I understand.”

Itachi doesn't either, and it’s not the sort of mystery that makes him want to know more. If he could shut the cover on this tale, pretend this ocean dreamscape is all there is to ponder, forget the symbol that still burns, the food that still appears, the fish that still fly, endlessly, like they have nothing else to do - if he could do all that, Itachi feels like maybe being dead with a beating heart wouldn't be so bad. 

But she’s unaware that ninja creep in the dark, stalking human prey, and it’s either incredibly ignorant or fantastically oblivious, and Itachi isn't sure there's a difference, but they’re the only two options his war-focused mind can consider. Except. 

Except he knows that under her long, floral skirt, pale scars web her legs as if a spider had made her skin its home. A woman like her couldn't have been sheltered away from the cruelty of mankind, not when there’s evidence of it so plain to see. She had fought something once, thrice, maybe more. Except.

She wasn't a ninja; she doesn't know what they are.

A hero, she’d called herself. 

Except, heroes don't exist. He had known that ever since Shisui took his own life for peace that never came.

He stays still. There are other possibilities. This is not a question he’d wanted to ask, lest she demand an answer in return, but it doesn’t seem like he can avoid it. 

“Where are you from?”

“Musutafu,” she responds easily. “It’s in Japan, near Tokyo.”

Having been across the Elemental nations, traveling to each corner of the continent, there’s no doubt that - if true - her home exists on another land mass, undiscovered by any person he’d met or read of. It’s not impossible, but it's improbable. Itachi had been studious during his childhood and that devotion had never ceased, only waned as duties took hold of him.

A place without ninja. A place with _heroes_. 

It sounds too good to be true.

He turns to the books he’d sat on the table. “Are there any geographical maps of your home in these?”

Uravity hums, thinking. “I don’t recall seeing any, but,” she looks to the boiling pot behind her, “you can explore while I finish up with breakfast? The radishes are almost done.”

Itachi nods, fingering through the books closest to him. Though interesting, none are relevant. He moves on to the other scattered stacks and a bookcase half used, filled with more trinkets than novels, while she returns to the kitchenette.

Some time later, long after Uravity had given up dragging him downstairs to eat, he finds a spine emblazoned with the title Earth. He opens it.

None of the maps are of Konoha.

Uravity points to her country, shows him her city, describes a skyline made of concrete towers and wires. She speaks of metal machines and metal guns and metal people and doesn’t understand his amazement - doesn’t realize her reality is myth come to life. Inventions not yet even dreamed of she laughs at him for questioning. 

It’s almost embarrassing, again, but only almost.

“Cars and trains are how we get around! Not all of us have flying quirks,” she says, laughing now at whatever humor she thinks is there.

Itachi falls into a plush chair, warm-ups forgotten, food abandoned, and stares at her and the pictures she’d found in other books. 

“I don’t understand,” he says, and has her explain everything all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, another round of applause to PlaguedAmbition for beta-ing and LinSetsu for her special brand of encouragement! Crestfallentwilight also helped me hammer out my intro. Huge thanks to them, but also to everyone who’s reading! Y’all are awesome!
> 
> To join the Fanfiction Discord I'm apart of: SmeDuHt


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